


Stanford Pines holds a grudge like my six year old brother

by angellteeth



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, This is probably that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellteeth/pseuds/angellteeth
Summary: In which Stanley blows up at the mention of West Coast Tech and Stanford stops being a pissbaby about it.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Stanford Pines holds a grudge like my six year old brother

"You cost me my dream school!"

That stupid school. Any mention of it infuriated him to no end. He could punch Stanford right in the mouth for bringing it up. But even after a decade of not seeing each other only to immediately get in an argument, he really didn't wanna hurt the guy.

"You don't fucking get it, do you, Stanford?" So this'll have to do. "This last decade has been hell! I've been run out of every state, and died in half of them! I've almost died a very real death in ALL of them! I've almost frozen to death more times than I can count! I haven't eaten in a week! You think not getting into some college is bad? TRY HANGING UPSIDE DOWN IN A MEAT LOCKER AND ALMOST BEING GUTTED!" His grip on the journal Ford gave him was white knuckled. Stupid journal. He wanted to rip out every page.

"I get it! I'm a screw up! I only make stupid, bad choices! IT'S BEEN RUN INTO MY HEAD FOR TWENTY SEVEN YEARS! So quit rubbing it in my face, you asshole!" He was pacing circles around Ford, who was just watching, dumbstruck. Some part of him was proud to shock the all knowing Stanford Pines.

He threw the book down on the ground. "Keep your book. I don't owe you shit, Stanford." Without another word, he turned around and went back upstairs, planning on never seeing a blood relative again.

-

Stanford stood there for a second, shocked into silence. He'd been sure Stanley was fine. How could he not be? Stan always managed to figure things out. Getting kicked out should've been no different, right? Stanley was smart enough, he should've been fine. Not homeless. Not almost gutted. Not having a mullet.

He snapped out of it just as Stanley reached the main floor, and chased after him, scooping up the journal on his way.

"Wait! Hang on a second, Stanley!" He shouted, not even stalling him. Despite not sleeping for he couldn't even remember how long, he caught up to him just as he was getting to his car and managed to grab his arm. "Come back inside, just for a minute. I can explain everything, really."

"You wanted me out of your life so bad, so I'm going. Now let go." Stanley yanked his arm away, very pissed off. 

"But you don't even have anywhere to go!"

"Don't remind me, jackass."

"Just... Come back inside. Please. If I'd known.. All that... I would've called you here sooner, and I wouldn't have called you just to tell to go to the north pole to bury a book."

Stanley stared at him for a second, expression unreadable, before sighing and slamming the car door shut. "Fine. I'll come inside. Better than arguing in the snow." He crossed his arms and trudged inside after his fidgety brother.

Banging the snow off just outside, the anger seemed to melt away a little. "So you said you'd explain yourself. Why'd you point a crossbow at my eyes and why do you look like you've never slept in your life?" He shut the door, somehow sounding more angry than ever instead of concerned. Not what he was going for but sure. It gets results.

He made himself comfortable in the horribly cluttered lab while Stanford hesitantly made good on his word and told him how he managed to fall in with a dream demon intent on destroying their entire universe. Miraculously, Stanley seemed to believe every word. Until he spoke.

"Have you tried therapy?" He suggested, sounding almost bored. He nearly got shot over this? Not the dumbest thing he's almost been shot for, but honestly. What the fuck.

"No, Stan! Therapy isn't the answer! This is real! That portal down there could kill us all and if I sleep I'll get possessed and start it up!" He was shaking now. All emotions connecting to this whole mess were very. Intense.

"Then dismantle it, genius." Stan tossed out another banger suggestion. At least this one is helpful. "I will but with the journals, it could be remade." Ford explained, showing him the page of the journal with the part of the blueprint. "That's why I needed your help."

Stan sighed. "Fine. I believe you. You'd never ask for my help if it weren't a very real problem. But I still won't be able to get this very far. Gas costs money. And so does a boat." He took the journal from him, flipping through it. He'd never noticed how much of an artist Ford was, all these perfectly realistic sketches of very horrifying/annoying beasts. Something else Sixer had to be smug about. Great.

He clapped the journal shut. "Anything you can do to get rid of him?"

"What?"

"Your demon. Perform an exorcism or put some incense in the windows or something. Sleep in a salt circle."

"Wrong kind of demon, but you're right. There is a way to ward him off... Why didn't I think of that before??"

"Easy, you're the world's dumbest genius." Stan yawned while Stanford paced around trying to remember what he'd need. "Guess I should get going then." He sighed and got up. That grabbed Ford's attention.

"No no- Stay the night, at least- You haven't eaten in a week, yeah? All I have for now is stale bread and cans of soup but. Food is food." Ford insisted, feeling terrible. And like a massive fuck up. 

After some more insisting, which lasted ten minutes, Stanley finally relented and agreed to stay the night.

After Stanford collected what he needed for the ward, they ate dinner in the guest room, on account of every other room being littered with Ford's nerd gadgets and kinda unusable. They even managed to laugh a little and Stanford felt safer than he had in weeks.

They both felt a little less like fuck ups that night.


End file.
